


Loved by Death

by Bibliophile030



Category: Katekyou Hitman Reborn!
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Canon Compliant, Demons, F/M, Gen, M/M, Multiple planes, Mythology - Freeform, Shinigami, Skull vs. Reborn, Slow Burn, Spirit World, Spirits, at least in the beginning, experimental fanfiction, overprotective skull, parental Skull, romance is not the main idea
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-12-23
Updated: 2018-03-06
Packaged: 2019-02-19 02:57:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 18,201
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13114533
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bibliophile030/pseuds/Bibliophile030
Summary: "There are more things in heaven and earth, Horatio, Than are dreamt of in your philosophy" - Hamlet (1.5.167-8)Most of the times, mortals pass onto the next world of their own volition. But not always. Stubborn ones linger. And by the Laws and Balance, Her Ladyship will not abide by that nor her active hands and feet in the world of mortals. Enter, Fortune, Shinigami Boss by occupation, human and spirit kin by blood/essence, and the kindest agent of a bunch of demons you'll meet. At least, that's was his mother and even his own second-in-command always tell him. Being a Boss isn't easy especially when you add his special missions on top of Shinigami and spirit duties. His dear mum then decides he needs a vacation away from the Shinigami offices and assigns him a very nebulous mission on the mortal plane. He agrees since his mother is adamant no one else can reap the opportunities there. Fortune is almost certain his mother is just being her normal manipulative self, but she surely wouldn't throw him into anything too bad if she thinks he needs a vacation, right?Assignment Location: Namimori, Japan





	1. Planes, Death, and Spirits

**Author's Note:**

> Sooo...I got into reading Katekyo Hitman Reborn recently, read a ton of fanfictions, and decided to write. Don't know if I will do any solid relationships or not...eh, tell me what you think would make good pairings. Probably will add more characters if I figure out a definite plot. I have about seven or so chapters written out, but I hope you don't mind their brevity. Thanks for all who read and enjoy this kind of story.

Fortune like to think he had done pretty well for himself. He was 36 years old, a demi-god according to most humans, and a Shinigami Boss. His domain, the territory where he operated under wasn’t too unruly; Japan had high suicidal rates, not murder rates, and Shinigami didn’t concern themselves with the normal run-of-the-mill deaths since those usually squared away by themselves.

No, the Shinigami’s true job was to keep an eye on the balance of death under the direction of the Moira of Death, the divine spirit Greek mythos called a goddess of Fate Atropos, the one who cut away the thread of life. In reality, Atropos was just one name among several generations of her line. The current one just happened to have inherited her name, too. Atropos Morta looked like an older beauty (deliberately so), fragile.

If one never faced her iron fist, especially in her own home.

“Fortune, stop taking your paperwork home. What did I tell you about the surplus of paper in this house? Or about the rule about one’s work life and family life?”

Did he forget to mention the current Moira of Death was also his dear beloved mother? The Moirai were a small but extremely powerful clan of divine spirits. While they may not number more than a few handful of blood clan members altogether, the Moirai were an undisputed High Power of the divine spirit community. Just about every other clan with the same level of prestige outnumbered them in blood members, associates, and servants by a hundred times over, but the Moirai believed in high standards and quality.

It also helped they were a rather indiscriminate lot, with both mortal members, formerly mortal members, and divine spirits fostered from lost and dying clans. If one had potential and the willingness to see that potential to the end, the Moirai were more than happy to take you in.

If you had less savory motives…well, the common bit of wisdom was that you didn’t. Not with those who literally controlled the destinies of mortal, spirit, and divine alike.

Not that they were omniscient or omnipotent beings. Like all things in their world, they had to follow the Laws, natural and divine boundaries to their powers and ability to bend the world around them. The Moirai were charged to maintain the flow of souls, to make sure the correct number of new souls entered the system, recently deceased mortal spirits entered into the Underworld (if they by chance didn’t go to there automatically or went to the mysterious beyond plane), and that timelines proceeded accordingly. Mortal lives had a lot of leeway within their timeline, but the Moirai could always change that if needed (or if someone treaded on the wrong toes). But so long as critical events played out, smaller changes could be allowed, ripples either anticipated or contained when appropriate.

“ **Fortune Morta, are you ignoring me?** ”

“Of course not, mom!” the young man in question quickly said, tone high-pitched. “Just lost in thought, I swear! And I’ll move the paperwork back in my office before tomorrow morning, I just needed to sign off on a few more things tonight.”

“Fortune, I swear, you’re too much like that father of yours. Let me guess, you went too easy on one of your captures? Had to file the papers indicating recapture was necessary?”

“…No?”

“Again, you are your father’s child just as you are mine. I love the man, but he’s a soft-heart for children much like you are. How many times must I remind you, children can be just as dangerous as full adults, especially the ones _you_ personally have to retrieve. As a Shinigami Boss of several years, I expect better of you,” huffed the irate white-haired woman, waist-length curls flowing out of the way as she marched through the kitchen. “Honestly, human half or not, you need to show some more spine, especially among your fellow Bosses, young man.”

Lady Morta was a scary lady and what she wanted she usually got through charm, intellect, or cunning. Especially from her own family. Everyone knew that, and if they called her full-grown son whipped for always returning to his mother’s abode once a week, he would kindly snip their threads of life himself – perks of being his mother’s heir – and that was if he was being kind. On a bad day, the Moira would politely invite the other over for dinner with his mother and watch in vindictive glee when his mother tore into them for “picking on her doting and precious son”. Balance help them if she found out his “guests” didn’t visit their own mothers to her satisfaction. Greater spirits and lesser spirits all had some measure of power, and for a spirit who controlled others’ fates, a curse to bind them to their mothers’ sides wasn’t all too complex.

Of course, her motherly façade was only surpassed by what Fortune lovingly called her Boss persona. Something of a mix between Bean Sidhe, Fury, and the Morrigan, she was the incarnation of displeasure and unholy vengeance when someone messed up in her system of Shinigami.

The Office of Death, as everyone referred to the system ran under the reigning Death Moira, was a strict system. Shinigami was actually a legitimate occupation stationed in the Underworld with its own hierarchy. His mother, the Moira of Death, also formally known as the Owner and the Great Overseer, headed and directed the overlying structure of the office. Her direct subordinates were the Bosses, directors assigned to particular regions or countries. They carried out the Moira’s will among the Shinigami domains. Under them were the Supervisors who acted as their personal staff in charge of major projects and the running of their domains. At the bottom were the Shades, the eyes, hands, and feet of the Shinigami. They took care of the normal workings, from watchers who monitor potentially dangerous elements on the mortal plane, to the Cerberi, the guards stationed in their headquarters and at the gateways between the Underworld and the mortal plane, to the largest division, the catchers.

As stated previously, Shinigami didn’t need to escort the souls and of any old mortal, the Laws of their world already had an automatic system drawing them into the Underworld or the beyond plane. What interested them were the spirits who for whatever reason lingered on the mortal plane; the souls who would not leave. They weren’t called ghosts properly, ghosts were legitimate remnants a soul left behind, an impression either accidentally or mistakenly left behind in life and awakened at death. Those eventually would fade on their own and didn’t do much harm besides frightening the common folk. They weren’t phantoms, either, those were more annoying permanent shards of souls, not a whole soul, and were borderline cases left to the reigning spirits to decide on whether to intervene or leave them alone.

No, Shinigami rounded up entire souls who had transitioned to spirit state on mortal plane, somehow anchored themselves there. Most cases it was emotions binding them there and they just needed a little push. That, or their souls got disrupted midway through their travel. When that happened, their souls would get pushed one way or the other, to the Underworld or into the mortal plane and somehow get snagged on something in their metaphysical hysterics. Those were easily dealt with cases, common work but necessary to the Balance. Catchers could easily handle those kinds of spirits. Not so with the rarer and more serious cases.

Sometimes, the sins of your life were too much. Sometimes, there was something legitimately wrong with one’s mind. Sometimes, you simple did not care at all for the laws and boundaries binding others. Or maybe, you were just that dangerous. In life, criminals, rotten-to-the-core puppeteers, amoral gents. In death, dark spirits. The shock of death combined with the darkness of one’s souls caused a spirit to lose their conscience, their mental restraint however flimsy. They became legitimate monsters, a step above nuisances of the bound spirits. They had enough mindless drive to cause trouble to the earthbound and divine spirit communities on the mortal plane or to normal bound spirits yet to be escorted. Some even could influence and affect the mortal plane directly. Unfortunately, most spirits calling that plane home lacked the power or training to ward off the fiends. Since all unruly spirits fell under the Death Moira’s responsibility, it was her loyal group of Shinigami who dealt with them. More to the point, the levels above Shade. Supervisors had lists and posters nailed to their office lobby board, not unlike bounty or wanted posters to be honest, and they worked together or as individuals to round up the menaces. They had the tools, the training, and certain allowances to afford them a means to take down the powerful wraiths. Some hunts took years of tracking for especially clever souls. Some hunts ended mere days after a watcher reported the fiend. However, should the target be found of dangerous power or gather with others such souls, the Supervisors could pass the case onto the the next level: the Shinigami Bosses.

For all the power the divine and earthbound spirits had, only the most powerful could actually walk on the mortal plane, manifest as a physical being. Among Shinigami, that power was bequeathed to the Bosses. There were some things only a physical body would enable a spirit to do against such dangers. Spiritual powers worked well enough on the spiritual planes, but were greatly shackled on the mortal planes. For spirits formed on that plane, their natural affinity allowed them access to 100% of their current power. This power boost faded somewhat once a soul was processed into the Underworld but until then such souls were dangerous. Earthbound spirits fared okay – thus, why many Shinigami were recruited among them – but they were still born on the spirit planes _first_ no matter if they were naturally predisposed to life on the mortal plane. A physical body would bypass this limit but were highly dangerous – following the wisdom of power corrupts – so were granted to the Bosses who had the pleasure to be run through the gamut of their Lady’s review before even consideration for promotion to Boss level.

There was also the whole factor of a person’s Soul/Life Fire. Or Dying Will Flames as his father called them. Upon entering the Underworld, the power was washed away as the final embers faded with the full confirmation of one’s passing. However, the term _Dying_ Will could be pretty troublesome. The unruly spirits weren’t nicknamed that for nothing. They were, if anything, stubborn bastards who clung to the last vestiges of their life most of the time. And with enough emotion, they can spark their fast-fading Flames to a semblance of life. More so if they learn to steal bits and pieces from living Flame users of the compatible type, a path usually leading to a bound spirit evolving into a dark spirit. Rare, but it happened. And yet another reason why dark spirits were a big problem. Dying Will Flames were born of a mix of living energy and the power of one’s soul; ergo, they can really, really hurt the common spirit if a mortal spirit got ahold of that power. Unfortunately, only strong spirit powers could effectively combat the Flames.

Thus, the necessity of handing former mortal spirit Supervisors and Bosses a Mortal Fire Pass if they did previously have the power in their past life. For the others, his mother did possess Flames of her own and she could share them with her subordinates in special charms, a trait shared by her son and capitalized upon if a situation called for it.

Fortune knew his responsibilities as Moira on top of Shinigami Boss intimately as he had a lot more pressure put on him than other Bosses. Putting aside his heirship, the young man cultivated skill and power way above the rest of his colleagues and had another distinct advantage on top of his Flames; unlike normal spirits, he had a mortal body. Pros: natural state was physical, so he could access 100% of his true power as needed. Cons: lacked the natural gift of intangibility coveted by most spirits, couldn’t work invisibility for some reason, and the power of unnoticeability would only get him so far if he didn’t mess up. He still made it all work, and the young man had somehow become the go-to Shinigami for horrors rebuffing even his senior and fellow Bosses.

Or for missions they honestly didn’t want to take, and naïve him didn’t question too much when running on expresso and copious amounts of sugar. His last mission, the dark spirit in question did take on the form of the child they were in life (dark spirits – spirits in general really – could look like a lot of things when they first form and over the evolution of their spirits. The dead could change, just not as readily as mortals). So, maybe the young Moira did let his guard down too easily and the little imp made a run for it just as he had dragged it near one of the gates. His second-in-command who had accompanied him was not impressed, but at least he helped him round up the errant spirit. Fortune would deny his SIC to his fading days he did not laugh with relief when they dunked the spirit into the nearest Lethe Spring, the Lethe itself being their equivalent of an extensive underground reservoir system that held a lot of purifying qualities. Most dark spirits needed only a forced ingestion of a vial of Lethe water to return their conscience (and hopefully a bit slightly saner) minds. The spirits require a Boss to catch…yeah, they needed to be wrangled over the divide and into source waters directly.

…his fellows really, really liked to annoy the youngest Boss now that he thought about it. Not to mention, his fellow Bosses also tended to shove Moira-mandated missions on him (another reason why he got Japan than say…Italy, Russia, any other European region, China, you get the picture. The Yakuza were not nearly as bad as Mafia and Triad members post-mortem).

His life could be hellish, but Fortune figured it could be worse. He had a job he liked for all its responsibilities, a family under a scary but loving matriarch, and moments of peace.

“Fortune, can you please delegate the paperwork to your subordinates? I have a mission just for you, my dear.”

…by the Balance, did he just jinx himself?

Mission Objectives: observation; other objectives possible

Assignment Location: Namimori, Japan

Details: My fellow Moirai have indicated this location will be at the center of several major events requiring a more hands-on approach. The exact events are withheld as due to the Laws, but certain details have been disclosed. By stationing someone here, we hope to capitalize on the opportunities that will be presented. As my heir and a Shinigami Boss, you possess the power and skills that will be called upon during your mission. Our agents will take care of most of your lodging needs, though I do recommend you take some form of position in the community for legitimacy purposes. The mission itself will be for an indeterminant amount of time, depending on how well it goes.

Your second-in-command will be handling your regional duties, and the other Bosses will just have to learn to make do without you as I kindly informed them. Though, since this is your home region, you may seek out your Supervisors and other subordinates at your own discretion outside of their normal duties.

Think of this also as a vacation of sorts. There will be plenty of down time, and you need to mingle with humans beyond your father. I swear, you inherited his social, too. If you happen to see the man, please remember to inform him of your new post. It would be lovely if you were able to spend more time with him instead of hanging out in this stuffy place. You may be of the divine spirits, but you are just as much human. Some time on the mortal plane might do some good for your restlessness and obsession with work. I shall expect you to visit every now and again. If you make any friends, feel free to bring them, too.

As a Moira, you may induct others into our world as your discretion. Know they will be under Geis by the Laws, and inform them beforehand that loose tongues are not an issue thereafter. Mortals are funny about that kind of thing and tend to react poorly. I know with your father…///

Take care, and do our family name proud.

Fortune sighed as he scanned through the mission letter for the umpteenth time. _My mother…_ She was a curious mix of matron she was, crone her aspect represented, and all and all sneaky lady. He could turn down the mission, but no one else could take it on. There were indications the dangers found on this mission would require power beyond that of a single Supervisor, and discretion meant a team was a no when a person was obligated to live here, not just keep watch for trouble. As much as the unknown factors pricked at his years of experience, as a Moira and human hybrid, he was used to these kinds of situations, too.

He was a Boss, an heir to one of the most prominent divine spirit clans, and a fully-grown man (if only by human standards). His orders mostly centered around observation and to act and interfere as needed. The Laws didn’t tie his hands down as much as his mother by the sheer fact that she had not passed down her powers (and thus claim as the reigning Moira of Death) to him. He had some inherent power on top of what was bequeathed to a Shinigami Boss. A mission like this should be simple enough. _A vacation,_ he reassured himself. A vacation interspersed with some form of chaos, sure, but hopefully not much more than what he could handle. No problem.


	2. Welcome to Namimori

For a 36-year-old, Fortune, now Weir Fortune for his public identity, didn’t look it. Partly due to his human genetics, but honestly, mortal body or not, he was still a powerful divine spirit. Shapeshifting was kind of expected, what with all the myths in human lore. For the Moirai, they could control their physical age. So, his standby was the equivalent of a man in his 20s or late teens. When around his father, he sometimes took on his “true form”, the form reflecting his age in spirit years rather than human years, to humor his dad’s usual brand of silliness when it came to his only son. It was embarrassing at times, but it unfailingly brought a smile, a _real_ one, on his dad’s face. Fates and Balance knew his father didn’t have that much to really smile about these past decades.

Although, his mother usually accused him of being a child himself. She also said it why the children of their associates took well to the Shinigami despite the reputation of the Moirai – specifically Death Moirai. Instead of fleeing, they tended to draw close to the man who wouldn’t bat an eye at chubby faces staring up at him, silently asking him to pick them up. When his mother saw this, she would sigh and say her son understood a child’s need because he was still one himself. Fortune would pout and turn away, child cradled gently in his arms or sitting on his back. For the older children who were brought by, they were enraptured by their parents’ kind boss who pulls away from his demanding stacks of paperwork to speak to the older children, explain some of the less grisly and satisfying work of the Shinigami, and play a few of the more harmless “games” the recruits played to improve hand-eye coordination and teamwork. They talked to him as if he was a trustworthy and long-time family friend instead of a strange adult who employs their parents. He did what other adults do not; he treated them equally and fairly, never demeaning them.

When considering this, Fortune decided to roll with the idea and look into any jobs involving children. Luck behold, a position had recently opened up due to health concerns. Not suspecting whether or not one of his relatives was involved in matters, the Moira-human checked off his certifications and applied.

Despite his complaints, a Shinigami Boss’s time was spent struggling more often with paperwork than dark spirits. Dark spirits in general weren’t too common since not all the world’s serial killers, mad men, and generally corrupt people tainted themselves to that extent. And it wasn’t those people in particular who fell into the depths of a dark spirit’s madness the deepest. No, the ones with little conscience or restraint didn’t earn much more in their new states, but the ones who regretted, who knew what they were doing was wrong but did it anyways…now those became the problem children who evolved into the level of serious dangerousness.

So, since Fortune in particular usually ended up only doing specially assigned hunts as the majority of his field work missions, the Shinigami Boss had plenty of time for himself. He spent it studying and capitalizing on the wonders of online schooling. He even had a Master’s and considered working on his Doctorate’s during his mission/vacation.

A week later, he got a reply. Starting tomorrow, he would become the new school therapist at Namimori Middle.

* * *

One of the first things Fortune did was go over the mess the school secretary called the student’s personal files and past sessions. No wonder the last person didn’t survive the school board’s purge after a pair of students outed a college-reject turned fraudulent teacher. Papers piled in messy clumps like some sort of monochromatic leaf pile, pens and pencils and other writing implements scattered and a few threatening to spill their damaging contents.

An ordinary person would take one look and flee for the hills. Or just fall to their knees and cry out, _why me?!_ Luckily, Fortune had the (dis)pleasure of annoying subordinates who skimped on paperwork when his second-in-command’s back was turned. When things started to pile up, his dear staff of Supervisors thought they were being sneaky by shoving some of their work on him. If he was a different sort of Boss, he could have thrown them to his more-tiger-than-spirit SIC. But, he was a softy, so he just shuffled the new mess he walked into once a paperwork cycle, forced order on the damn growing monster of ink and tree, and made do. Compared to what _that_ looked like, the mess annoyed him but didn’t take too much for him to organize and take the time to read over most of the files.

After the first read over and making his new office resemble some semblance of order, Fortune went back over the files, taking notes on anything he deemed red flags. From there, he compiled a list and set up a tentative chart on how to handle different batches of problem children.

And his first one would be one Sawada Tsunayoshi.

* * *

At 14 years of age, the middle school student was unusually short. _Possibly reinforces negative outlook on overall physical ability,_ Fortune noted.

“Sawada-kun – may I call you that? – I am Weir Fortune, the school’s new therapist if you have not yet been informed of. I hope we may have a pleasant relationship during your time here at Namimori Middle School. Now, how has the school year been?” Fortune started off, knowing jumping right into an issue would be a double-no.

“A-alright, I-I s-suppose,” stuttered the brunet.

Fortune had a great memory and decided to not write anything down during a session with a student. He hoped this subtle gesture would help teenagers so full of insecurities at this age be more at ease with him. He knew male therapists didn’t get the best images in their discipline nor did most adolescents feel comfortable talking about their feelings to their parents, much less some adult and male to boot.

Sawada Tsunayoshi began to stammer out the usual you would expect from a teen about school. Classes were hard. People could be unkind. There were bad teachers and good teachers. The most interesting thing the therapist heard, though, was the remark about his new friend and the recent transfer student.

“Gokudera Hayato, right? I believe by the rumors running amok, the two of you were involved in the whole Nezu-sensei mess, yes? You must be someone special to have such a dedicated friend who would risk expulsion to tell someone the truth,” smiled Fortune. “I’ll let you in on a little secret; I always loved the underdogs the best because while they may not be the strongest on their own, they tend to be the best of will and mind. Good leaders at heart who gather other lost souls. Alone, easy pickings. But together, even if only two people, they’re stronger than their individual powers.”

Sawada-kun blinked at me. “I-I d-don’t understand.”

“Think of it like this; lions are the kings of the African savannah, right? Sure, big male lions are strong on their own, but that power isn’t much good if they can’t keep up with their prey. Now, the lionesses are a different thing. By themselves, a male lion would topple them. But, a group of them can do what the male cannot readily do; they can force large but quick prey to the ground. Not because of one individual’s power but because they have each other, one who took the lead and directed them while the others cornered and topple their victim, their prize a feast fit for their den full of cubs and their lazy king. It’s not the perfect metaphor, but I think the meaning is pretty good. Do _you_ understand, though, Sawada-kun?”

“Umm, yeah! I think.”

The confused look clearly said no to that.

“Replace the lionesses with you and Gokudera-kun. You’re not too powerful on our own compared to the bulkier and stronger kids around school, right? But as friends who value one another, you can take advantage of one another’s skills and strengths to accomplish things you wouldn’t dream of before, yes? Rather than simply adding together your strengths, you can help unlock even more possibilities and power of one another through cooperation. In other words, friends help make other friends stronger just by being friends,” explained Fortune with a knowing smile. He would be a mess personally if his SIC didn’t take pity on that young man who first entered into the Shinigami ranks those years ago.

Sawada-kun thought long and hard on the metaphor. Slowly but surely, his frown twitched up until Fortune saw a smile so bright, it tempted out another equally shining smile in answer.

“Yeah…Gokudera-kun is my friend, isn’t he? We’re friends. All of us.”

Fortune nodded slowly. “I suppose he is after pulling such a dangerous stunt. Our time’s almost over, so would you agree to another session next week?” offered the student therapist.

Tsunayoshi agreed readily enough and Fortune waved goodbye to him. _That…wasn’t too bad_ sighed Fortune. He worried for a moment there he would do something embarrassing like sweat through his clothes with the amount of anxiety coming to a head today. Thankfully, he kept his cool and even made one of his students a bit happier. Hopefully this was a sign for the rest of his days.

* * *

Next student…Yamamoto Takeshi. By his reports and the school gossip mill, the young man was a starter and star player of the baseball team, class male idol (is that what they called the most popular student these days? Was that normal?), and class peer of Sawada-kun coincidentally. According to the school’s recently file incident reports, the young man he would be seeing had recently suffered through a hard period and nearly jumped the school’s roof.

After going through the basic introduction questions, Fortune tentatively began to breach the suicide attempt incident.

“So, you believe the gods of baseball threw you away?”

“Yep!” said the raven, completely cheerful on the outside. Fortune hung out with too many dangerous people to mistake what could only be a mask. “I’ll be honest; I had hit a rut, my batting averages were falling, then I did a stupid thing and got my arm broken before the championship game. I truly felt like the only thing in my life that people cared about was my skill as a baseball player. If I couldn’t fulfill their expectations, if I couldn’t play baseball, then what use was I?”

“Yamamoto-kun, life isn’t something to measured by only one standard,” advised Fortune. “Especially as a wider range of people would say your life is beyond any price or number.”

“Weir-sensei, I know that now. But back then…it took Tsuna to realize what I was throwing away. What I was leaving behind and cutting away. My family. My future. If I do something, I’ll do it with my Dying Will!” A genuine smile, not the glossy fake one, widened on his face. Fortune thought this one looked more lively than his fake one.

“As long as you don’t die yourself, Yamamoto-kun,” Fortune chided with a small smile on his face. “Sounds like Sawada-kun is something, isn’t he? To risk his life for yours…”

Yamamoto-kun nodded his head, face pulled into a knowing look. “I don’t want him to worry about me so much. He saved me, so I’ll repay my debt by being there for him. It’s funny, everyone calls him Dame-Tsuna until the two matches a couple of weeks ago. But he’s not dame at all, you know!”

The therapist nodded and said, “I know that pretty well. I interviewed him earlier, and he implied as much that he was willing to do everything for his precious people. Sounds like you will be greats friends, so always mind your Sawada-kun’s words, but remember you need to also give yourself a break. It’s not good for your health to stretch yourself too thin, you know? Also, remember no man is an island. Cliché, I know, but that doesn’t invalidate the wisdom of talking with others, really talking and not just acting. Friends are the kind of people who you can rely upon to enjoy life together between crises, talk with when you’re down, _help_ each other.

Now, I think my coworker is kindly trying to tell me our time is about up. Do you mind meeting up again next week? I have the practice and club schedules from the club captains and leaders, so arranging these things around them is no issue, and I completely understand if you don’t want to. Remember, I’m here for you students, not just because I’m the school’s therapist. ‘kay?”

Yamamoto-kun shot him a smile, a little bit strained, but more genuine than the ones he gave at the beginning. “Sure! I don’t mind at all, Weir-san!”

“You can call me Chokishi if you want,” gently Fortune gently suggested, “It’s the Japanese equivalent of my name, and I don’t mind when people are being less formal with the whole naming thing. But call me whatever you prefer.”

Yamamoto Takeshi’s smile became a little more relaxed as he chirped up, “Haha, Chokishi-san it is, then! Thanks for talking with me, so I guess I’ll see you again next week?”

Fortune hummed a positive response and wrote out a reminder for Yamamoto Takeshi to take with him. Like any good therapist (or overly good in his case), Fortune had already memorized the relevant information from the schedules for his sessions today. Yamamoto-kun stopped by the schedules he pointedly kept tacked by the door, humming in happy surprise to see the time and day for the appointment did not coincide with a day he had practice or a game.

* * *

When Fortune met up with Gokudera Hayato, the silveret was definitely one to watch out for in terms of temper. He bristled, and his anger flashed if someone even so much as suggested something about his relationship with Sawada Tsunayoshi (or just talked about the boy in anything hinting at a negative light). _Note to self: mark Gokudera-kun out for possible anger management classes. And for a possibly dangerous fascination/obsession with Tsunayoshi-kun._

When Yamamoto-kun was brought out, the silveret’s temper really snapped.

“I’m not friends with the Baseball-Idiot!” vehemently denied the explosive teen.

Fortune tapped the side of his desk. “Ah, but Gokudera-kun, don’t you share a mutual friend in Sawada-kun?”

“Juudaime is too kind! He can’t get up the courage to deny the Baseball-Idiot, so it’s my duty to drive him off if necessary!” sneered the teen.

Humming in question, Fortune didn’t try stopping the explosive boy but simply asked, “But does Sawada-kun really want to lose his newfound friend? And I don’t think Yamamoto-kun is that easily dissuaded. It’s good to expand your circle of friends, so why not give him a chance?”

Gokudera-kun fumed, “I will _never_ be friends with that _idiota_! And Juudaime is my boss, and I his loyal subordinate! If he asked, I would give up my life for him!”

“Can’t he be both then? There are many people who see their bosses as both their undeniable leaders but also good friend. In both cases, loyalty is naturally extended and expected. But remember to temper that with genuine compassion and interest. Also, while devotion is admirable, blind devotion can be caustic for both parties. Remember, harm to you would also greatly distress Sawada-kun, don’t you think? Like I told Yamamoto-kun, remember to take care of yourself as much as your friends, okay?”

Gokudera-kun grudgingly agreed on that point but remained adamant on his loathing on Yamamoto-kun. Fortune was satisfied with as much progress as he had achieved with Gokudera-kun by that point, though. Since he was the last scheduled student for the day, Fortune got started on writing his individual reports for his student session portfolios.

* * *

Fortune paused, hand mid-reach for another file from the evening’s stack of paperwork. He could swear he heard gunfire and…what something _exploding_ outside?

[…Indira, I know you’re out there. You do realize I am a fully-grown man, right?] Fortune mused through the telepathic link any good Shinigami Boss maintained with his subordinates. Usually for emergencies, but the noise outside were a bit more than concerning.

[Boss-kun, you’re avoiding your paperwork]

[But-but, the _explosions_ outside!]

[True, but it’s under control. It’s seems this place is as interesting as Lady Moira suggested]

[No one is getting hurt?]

[Nothing permanent]

[In- _dira_!] squeaked Fortune as indignantly as possible, head banging onto his desk

[Just let it be. Mafia children will be Mafia children]

Fortune’s head shot up at he fourth word, and he nearly choked on his own saliva when the whole sentence registered. […I’m sorry, what about the _Mafia?_ As in _Costa Nostra_? The secret side, no, _world_ we are always keeping an eye on because of how many dark spirits arise from them? That Mafia?]

[Yes] his subordinate bluntly stated.

[Why me?]

[If that is all, I think I will take liberty to catch up with Enrica and Aiden. Seems like the Bovino child is here and has the bazooka]

Since time travel fell into the possible dangerous element category, the whole Famiglia was under watch, but especially that particular invention. A purge hasn’t been ordered only since the weapon drew out people from alternative timelines only and has been adjusted to solve the whole dilemma of having multiples of a person occupying the same temporal point. So, there would be at least three watchers in the immediate vicinity.

That didn’t particularly relieve the Shinigami Boss. He had a strong the child would get involved in whatever mess his dear, dear relatives just dumped him into without so much as a shovel of information to stop him from being buried under whatever chaos was brewing. Why, why did he agree to this?

 _Because you’re a kindhearted and doting son_ his traitorous conscience reminded him. At the next tremendous boom, Fortune gave up on his paperwork and just let his forehead rest on his paper-strewn desk, praying to the Balance that the worst would be some crispy but very much alive and not maimed students tomorrow.

Time-traveling bambinos, Mafia-related students… And Fortune couldn’t forget about the mysterious and _dangerous_ aura he sensed moving about the school. And currently at point zero of the explosions if he thought about it. And can’t forget that same presence has peeked on him numerous times, especially during a certain group of student’s sessions. _Why is this my life?_ Fortune had a feeling these next few years would hear this familiar refrain multiple times during his stay.


	3. Mia Familia

Several days later, another concerning presence entered the school grounds.

Another little skill/curse of Fortune’s: he was Flame-sensitive. Not like he could simply sense Flames – though he could do that, too. The thing was, even the slightest brush of Flames was magnified several times over. If the Flames were for his benefit, fine, although a bit awkward and potentially maddening if someone didn’t have fine enough control, Flames crawling and feeling like they practically skittered over and under flesh. So, for him, a normal Sun Flame that could heal bruises would mend bones in how effective his body took to them. The opposite, unfortunately, was also true. If it pinked skin, his would _sear._ Objects actively influenced by Flames glinted in his mind’s eye and somehow dealt even more damage than normal (could be the fact his physical body was overlaid with his spiritual body).

As a sensor, dormant Flames made his mind itch and glittered too brightly in his second sight – the active overlay of his mind’s eye on his normal vision - but he learned control pretty quickly to keep his sanity when stalking through the mortal plane. But active Flames were a sight rarer. And they lit up his inner eye like mini suns rather than stars, and they gave him the phantom sensation of something hot held to this skin.

Lucky for Fortune, the trespasser was just another miniature sun in his mind’s eye. Not like that other person. The Moira-human shuddered as he thought on the person who skulked through the school without hesitation.

That person _scalded_ with how much his Flames burned. Practically blinding, too, if Fortune tried to locate the guy with his second sight. Even if the guy – yeah, definitely a guy by with that Soul Fire – normally leashed his Flames, Fortune could still feel them even on the other side of the school.

…was it too late to turn down his mission assignment?

[Yes]

[Didn’t ask you, Indira] sulked the Shinigami Boss as he shoved on pair of headphones in an effort to distract himself. _Doesn’t my second-in-command have anything else to do? Like snagging a corrupted spirit or file some of my paperwork?_

* * *

Fortune raised an eyebrow as Gokudera-kun marched into his office the next day.

“Hello, Gokud-”

“Shut it and listen. That’s what you’re paid for, right?” sneered the silveret.

Canting his head to the side, Fortune took in the student’s state: hair in a disarray, skin too pale and slightly greenish. His entire stance screamed disgust, wariness, and uncertainty on top of being ill. Dormant Storm Flames flickered, restless, crimson hue dim, and curled under the skin as if to protect against something they knew they couldn’t handle.

“Okay then, Gokudera-kun.”

He didn’t interrupt as the distressed student seethed out his whole sordid tale of well-meaning sisters, callous fathers, and a boy’s abused talent. The Shinigami suddenly recalled why the surname Gokudera was familiar. It was a mid-sized Famiglia under the umbrella of the Vongola and one slated as a family of interest due to the corrupted nature of the family head. So, if he had the facts correct, Gokudera Bianchi would be the one called the Poison Scorpion. No wonder Gokudera-kun said her cooking, in his own words, _sucked to a dangerous degree._ She practically poisoned him all the time until he moved out. Now the poor kid couldn’t even look her in the face without a psychologically-driven reaction, as if her very presence poisoned him.

“I hate her.”

“Pardon, Gokudera-kun?”

The silveret suddenly shouted, “I hate her! Why did she have to obey him? Why didn’t she realize…”

“That she was hurting her only little brother?” finished Fortune quietly. “Maybe her happiness about you always eating them blinded her. She was only a child at the time, too. And all children also try to obey their parents, at least in the beginning. Gokudera-kun, have you considered your feelings toward your sister is not…entirely aimed at her?”

Narrowed jade eyes looked at the man in suspicion. Since the teenager didn’t raise any objections to Fortune’s theory he continued on.

* * *

Gokudera Hayato believed he didn’t need anyone but Juudaime’s approval. He certainly didn’t trust his feelings toward the quack the school recently hired.

When Hayato first met the man, he was not impressed. He had light purple hair for one thing, mostly tied up a ponytail, though the side-bangs hung in long twirls like some sort of sissy princess look. He was probably partially albino with his papery-white skin and red eyes, and he looked like an overgrown bean with how tall and skinny he was. Not much definition, either. The man’s dress was less formal than the other teachers, dark-blue vest over a crisp white shirt, finished with a black tie at least, though Hayato questioned his tastes with purple and pink swirling lines decorating it. Overall, the therapist looked like a weird mesh of hippie and office worker. Not someone very respectable in the eyes of the young Mafioso.

The whole conversation about Juudaime, the Baseball-Idiot, and Hayato’s loyalty made the silveret’s hands itch for his dynamite. But there was something about the therapist making the Mafia teen pause. His instincts, the same one that flashed to life and said his life was over the moment he dropped that dynamite those weeks ago, that yelled at him to leave when it was obvious his father wouldn’t stop Bianchi, screamed to the potential Guardian that this man was above his level and warned him from even considering facing this man in his own domain. Hayato hesitated but agreed with those instincts. For now. He refused to meet with the guy again, though.

Then why did Hayato find himself telling his life story (highly edited, Omerta was not something to be broken for any civilian, no matter how well meaning) to this guy?

Maybe because the man’s advice did feel…not right, but maybe something he should consider? _You’re getting soft, being around all these civilians, Hayato_ his inner voice which suspiciously sounded like his father chided him. _Maybe I am, but this is where Juudaime chooses to be,_ the silveret mentally shot back.

“Gokudera-kun, think about it like this.” Hayato shook his mind free such thoughts and returned to the conversation, mouth pulled into his typical sneer. “You probably witnessed your father’s insistence for you to continue playing strangely under the influence of your sister’s half-hazardous cooking. He did so fully knowing the effects it would have on your health. I bet when you first heard how he scheduled you for more piano performances like that one, you probably felt betrayed. Angry, even. But this was your father, right? Someone you didn’t want to disappoint. So, you buried your emotions for him and turned them on the only other target in this whole affair: Bianchi, your half-sister.”

“Shut up,” Hayato quietly stated.

The damn therapist shook his head but stopped his analysis. “As you will, Gokudera-kun. But, if you’re still willing to talk, feel free to come by my office whenever if I don’t have a session in progress. If my hypothesis is still an uncomfortable topic, then we can just focus on techniques to see about relieving your little dilemma, we can’t have you fainting on us, right Gokudera-kun? If you want, I can talk with your sister in your place, I do have after-school hours if necessary. That is, if you want me to speak in your stead about this ongoing problem?”

Why did he dump his issues on this guy again? He was acting way too considerate and kind for this to be genuine. Hayato huffed and said, “Do whatever you damn want. Bianchi left town for a bit, but I’ll send her your way when she gets back. Don’t eat anything she gives you, though,” Hayato added, and silently cursed himself. _Idiot, the guy probably knows that by now! And why did you tell him anyway?!_

“Ah, thank you for your concern, Gokudera-kun, but I think I’ll be okay. My family has always had a flirting acquaintance to thrills, oddities, and brushes with death, so I think I can handle some horribly prepared dishes,” chuckled Weir-san.

The silveret stood up without warning and stomped his way to class, not even letting the slightly amused yet exasperated therapist hand him a late pass.

* * *

Apparently, family was the theme of this week. For his session with Sawada-kun, Fortune offhandedly asked about how the brunet’s mother was since the well-meaning woman flagged the man down in the store the other day, gushing about the kind man whom her son said he was meeting on his own volition to talk about his problems. Sawada-san was quite the woman, really boisterous and caring if a bit oblivious.

He resisted the urge to snicker when the teen blushed bright red at the tale. “I-I’m sorry about that, Chokishi-san!”

Fortune blinked at the decreased amount of stuttering but then chuckled, “Ah, Sawada-kun, your mother is well meaning, and I understand that. She said you have her coloring and stature, but you have pieces of your father’s kindness. He must be a great man.”

Sawada-kun’s eyes practically bugged out. “My d-dad? She s-said t-that about him? And me?”

O~kay. Stuttering returning full force.

“I’m sorry, is that a bit of a sensitive topic? We can always talk more about your mother…”

Sawada-kun shook his head wildly. “I-it’s not that e-exactly. My d-dad just been gone for a l-l-ong time. I haven’t seen him in t-two years, actually,” confessed the fluffy-haired brunet. “When he suddenly left that last time, Mama said he wanted her to tell me he was going to be a star.”

Ah…that was…that was something to tell your only child. Fortune mentally shook his head at the blasé attitude of some people.

[Any truth in his words?]

[Are you asking me to abuse _your_ status to check on people’s mortality?]

[Y-yes?]

A moment. Then:

[Fine. Sawada Iemitsu, right. He’s…hmm? He’s perfectly fine and alive. Marked as a potential recruit should he pass on – which is likely soon with the mortality rates of his particular line of work. He has yet to committed anything extreme enough or given any other indication to qualify as a possible dark spirit when he dies probably, but he IS Mafia. A descendant of that Giotto-guy, to boot] reported Indira blandly. _Okay then. Great_. Giotto and everyone affiliated with him were a pain in half judging by the records alone. He should know since his mother made him go through all those reports.

“Sawada-kun, what do you think of that?” inquired Fortune gently. Vongola and Giotto, what a harrowing connection. If Iemitsu was a part of the Mafia as an active member, with enough potential to be marked early for Shinigami ranks…

“I think that man can do as he please, though I wish he treated Mama better.”

Fortune blinked as he felt the barest trace of Flames simmer to the surface before retreating below what the Flame-sensitive could detect. If the Moira didn’t believe wholeheartedly on his sixth sense – the same one that has saved his life on more than one occasion – he would have dismissed the phenomenon as a product of a stressed mind. But, this was _Giotto’s_ descendant, after all. Flames were often inherited, and the blond had ridiculously strong and pure Sky Flames in his time. Giotto. A can of worms embodied.

 “Although, by now I suppose hee’s probably dead.”

 _Ouch._ Blunt and to the point, that remark, and intense in how honest it was. “Sawada-kun, I’m sure your father meant something else, and your mother still acts normally, right? I’m sure she would have said something if he was terminally ill or dying. Never mind deceased.”

“Sure,” shrugged the brunet, expression pinched.

“Or maybe he became a famous kind of star. I know with my own father, he tends to…exaggerate very badly. Very full of himself, but that’s to be expected from his line of work,” Fortune mused. His father was definitely something most days.

“O-oh…? How s-so? Not that you n-need to t-tell me your personal business, Chokishi-san!”

Fortune laughed. “Tah, Sawada-kun, don’t look so pensive. My father was quite the riot back in the day. According to my dear _Mater,_ he still is now. He was a performer of sorts, nothing super formal and only appreciated by a certain venue, but he enjoyed the work. Unfortunately, past events cut his career short. He still manages some things, but usually not for the public. I do admire my father’s daring. In unfamiliar situations, he isn’t the bravest guy, but he tries his best with what he can do. Disabled or not, he still like to travel around and can’t stand being in one place forever, but he makes a point to visit, especially when _Mater_ gets on his case. He actually taught me a lot of his own skills, though I have incorporated them in other fashions.”

Fortune stopped as he saw how down Sawada-kun looked with a touch of awe and longing.

“I wish my father was more like that,” the brunet sadly mumbled.

“But you have a loving mother, don’t you?” softly reminded Fortune. “With someone like Sawada Nana and a kind and caring son like you, your family will do just fine on its own.”

“Yeah…” Sawada-kun’s eyes were suspiciously bright and liquid, but his smile was happy, probably reflecting on the strength of the little two-person family.

* * *

Gokudera Bianchi. Poison Scorpion. The first thing she does when she enters the office is offer the Shinigami a drink. He doesn’t bat an eye at the mysteriously fizzing purple drink before he downs it in one go. Genetics are a wondrous thing, especially when it meant most normally deadly things don’t faze you for a moment. It would hurt. A lot. Especially fatal shots or complete body disintegration, but his spirit body would repair the damages or recover his physical form (something about metaphysical energy to matter conversion). It would take time, much more than for a Shinigami or divine spirit of with the ability, but he would recover. And much quicker than a normal human or some Sun or Cloud Flame users. But those were flesh wounds. Things like poison and venom, those that target nerves or blood, or something like simply didn’t work. Something like his immune system and spiritual energies attack the foreign bodies with vengeance and then some. Tasted disgusting or hurt like ants under the skin at times, but no other effects than that.

Bianchi definitely didn’t like what she was not seeing.

“Bianchi-san, I have a strong constitution, so I’m sure whatever you just fed me will be fine. Now, we’re not here to antagonize the other. I’m simply acting on behalf of your younger half-brother, Gokudera-kun.”

The pink-haired teenager blanches. Then rage twists her features. “Who do you think you are?! My brother is none of your business and neither is our family! Are you some sort of spy or-?”

“Bianchi-san, enough. I have no idea what kind of spy you think I am, but Gokudera is a student of Namimori Middle School. As a therapist certified to work here, I am always on the sides of the students, regardless of what my coworkers say or do. Now, about Gokudera-kun, are you aware of why your brother takes ill in your presence?”

“What?” bites out the Poison Scorpion, her hands reaching into her pockets, probably going for a weapon or more examples of her deadly cuisine. “He’s a strange boy sometimes, has his idiosyncrasies.”

“Bianchi-san, when he came into my office, he was still recovering from spending time with you. I have a Masters in Psychology. I diagnosed from his story that childhood trauma had left him with a kind of bodily flashback reaction, almost like PTSD. You surely recall when he first started acting like that, right? When something you did sent him into and odd, dizzy, half-aware state?” probed Fortune.

Bianchi’s fumbling stops. Her light pink hair had fallen to cover her face, and thus her expression. Several minutes pass like that. In a dead voice, the teenaged hitman responds, “Back when our father first had Gokudera-kun play in front of others. He was a gifted pianist. I made him cookies. He made the oddest music back then, half slouching over the keys, fingers working almost independent of his mind’s commands.”

“Gokudera-kun said you can’t cook. Not without somehow messing up badly,” offered Fortune, red eyes not leaving the stilled form of the hitman. He could see by how her young Storm Flames – active ones, too – flared and twisted, that her mind was racing down memories she probably pushed back after her brother fled from home.

“Poison. Everything I make turns rotten and poisonous. That would have included…I didn’t know, I was so proud of them,” Bianchi whispers in horror. “Father said Gokudera was fine, brushed off my concerns the one and only time I questioned what was happening while we were watching. I forgot about that and how I had this ability to mess up every dish even back then. Father looked really happy to hear everyone compliment him on Hayato’s performance, that they wanted to hear him play more. He asked me to serve him my “special” cookies for good luck.

Then he ran off. I saw him off and again these past few years, but he always either fled or past out. I thought it was just nerves from seeing is big sister, or just something peculiar about him. I brushed off the suspicions whispering in my head the first few times. I never even considered connecting my…inability to cook edible food with what happened back then.”

Fortune nodded his head. “You are both very young. Now and then. As his sister, you probably didn’t even want to consider your father would endorse you to sicken the child deliberately for social reasons. Denial. It blinded you to truth years later, convinced you that your brother’s resulting trauma was just some sort of phase.”

Bianchi went quiet, physically and aura-wise. Then…

“I’m such a terrible sister.” Her voice was broken, the weight of guilt turning it into a rasp.

“No, just single-minded most of the time, probably. You meant well, and you simply did as you were told. It was not your fault. You _didn’t know_. If you must point fingers, point them at the one who endangered your brother’s health. But, I am not encouraging you to seek revenge against your father,” added Fortune when he sensed the Storm Flames roil in a very alarming way. “Not when your brother is at a crossroads in his life, where he might need his big sister to shoulder his burdens if only for a little bit.”

“And how can I do that if my presence sickens him?” growls the scary woman. “He probably hates me by now!”

Fortune stared at her, stoic. “Technically, Gokudera-kun said only your face sickened him. I recommend you handle this like some handle phobias. Exposure therapy. Adopt a style that obscures your facial features and work your way to fully revealing your face. As for your concerns about Gokudera-kun’s feelings…he probably feels resentment, yes. He is only fourteen. Maybe hatred, but I hypothesize a good bit is actually felt toward your father, the one to set the two of you into this poisonous – sorry about the terminology – spiral. However, Gokudera-kun can’t exactly express those feelings safely toward their intended target. So, he redirected it toward you, most likely. I think if you make efforts to reconnect with him, to mend the bridges between siblings, you have a good chance to really be brother and sister, half-siblings or not.”

Bianchi slowly rises from her seat.

“Bianchi-san?”

Nothing.

“At least consider my advice before you take any drastic measures. Here.” Fortune scours his desk until he finds what he was looking for. “My card. Feel free to call me if you have any questions or need a willing ear. And I always keep my door open to children needing advice or help.”

“I am not a child,” Bianchi finally says over her shoulder.

“17 is not an adult in the eyes of most countries’ laws,” Fortune huff, a smile on his face for the first time since the conversation between the Shinigami and the Poison Scorpion began.

He had a feeling the Gokudera siblings will be okay.


	4. Meeting a Black-Eyed Devil

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I’m sure happy to see someone likes this story enough to comment~ Your answers, cosmoqueen and DaughterOftheWineDude shall be found at the end of this chapter.
> 
> By the way~ Pairings suggestions? I was tinkering with the idea of Fortune and Reborn, though I’m pretty certain that might give the guy’s dad an aneurysm if they did. Spirits have ways around curses being just as vaunted as their mortal counterpart. Or maybe some other Arcobaleno?
> 
> Any other side pairings you really want to see in the story? No Tsunayoshi with Haru or Kyoko unless I fiddle with their characterization. By a lot. Maybe Fortune should introduce Nana to one of his coworkers, they’re about 300% better than Iemitsu even if some of them are ‘dead’.

Fortune clicked his tongue in exasperation. He had left his office to take a stroll through the school halls when a little boy ran right into his legs hard enough to make him stumble.

“Lambo ran into someone and fell on his ass!”

“Language, Lambo-kun,” chided Fortune automatically. He bent over and scooped up the strange child. _Lambo…as in of the Bovino’s? It would be just my luck. Sometimes, I think my dad’s choice of name just ended up jinxing me in the end._

“You can’t tell the great Lambo what to do!” pouted the little boy.

He looked about five-years-old, dressed in a cow-print onesie, and bore a pair of horns – weapons with the right skillset – in his very large and curly blue-black afro. According to the reports, the little Bovino inherited a kind of blessing from some distant ancestor who saved a divine spirit of some moderate power. His hair basically had what a video gamer would call a hammer space. Impossibly large and numerous items could be stored in the kid’s hair. Since he was a hitman, that mean the child carried a veritable armory in that deceptively cute hairstyle.

Fortune hummed, “I see. You’re a big boy, aren’t you?”

“Aha! So, you recognize the greatness that is Lambo-sama!”

“Then…can this big man tell me where he is supposed to be?”

“I am Lambo from the Bovino Family! I like candy and grapes! I was sent here to assassinate stupid Reborn by my family! Lambo also came here to also see Tsuna-nii!”

“Right…” _Reborn_... That name sounded familiar. “Lambo-kun, why don’t we go to my office?”

“No! I need to finish my mis-!”

“I have some grape candy just for big men like you,” offered Fortune. “My name is Weir Fortune, the school’s therapist, but you can call me Chokishi.”

“Bring me to the grape candy, Oyaji!”

“Or you can call me that,” murmured Fortune with a sigh.

* * *

Lambo sat on his desk, content with a handful of thankfully sugar-free grape candy.

[Boss-kun, you are a child magnet, aren’t you?]

[I did bribe him, Indira]

[Still counts. He didn’t complain when you picked him up, did he? And he’s a little kid with a mission, so of course he tried to go and complete it rather than go following some stranger] Fortune could practically feel the other smugly grinning at him from wherever he was posted. He filed through a few papers on the latest fire drill procedures then paused.

[Our division office hasn’t been burned down, right? I do vividly recalled the last time I went on a family vacation for a week and you were sent on a mission at the same time. You may be there _most_ of the time, but you’re getting my missions now which usually run longer than a few days]

[Only if someone wants to spend the day sparring with me, Boss-kun] thought the SIC, dark and murderous aura palpable even over the link.

[Dare I ask about the paperwork?]

[O~oh, I handled that little problem fine this cycle] reported Indira in a way too saccharine voice.

Fortune sighed [No one was mutilated, right? We are spirits, so regeneration is possible if anything is removed or deformed badly enough, but…]

[Everyone is back in one piece, Boss-kun]

[That does not relieve me, Indira!]

The link went silent. Fortune shook his head. _His SIC sometimes._ Just because the man’s senior officer, i.e. him, was younger by…a good several centuries, doesn’t mean he can get away with being a cheeky bastard! But at least he could whip their division members up to snuff when called to it.

A tentative tap at his office door announced a student coming for his appointment.

“Come in.”

“Sorry I was a bit late, but- Lambo?”

“Tsuna-nii!” cheered the little boy.

“I see you do know this little one,” chuckled Fortune. “I found the little guy wandering the halls today. Offered him some lunch and candy. He’s a pretty good child, a bit rambunctious and sassy, but he’ll grow into a fine young man someday with a lot of love and care and _good_ role models? Right Sawada-kun?”

“Uh…yeah,” answered the flustered brunet.

“Dame-Tsuna, as a Boss, you should be more aware when family members are wandering lost. Especially if some stranger goes and picks them up,” berated a squeaky voice and high-pitched voice.

Sawada-kun turned decidedly stiff. Fortune nearly bit his tongue as the broiling and dark-tinged Soul Fire he usually felt at a distance suddenly came way too close. _How did he-?_

A baby. What looked like a baby in a suit, wearing a fedora with an orange band around it, and sporting a set of strangely curly sideburns hopped right onto Sawada-kun’s shoulder.

“And who’s this?” asked Fortune, pretending a baby suddenly appearing in his office was normal. Considering the Shinigami had already shown he didn’t show alarm at the five-year-old bumping into him earlier today, it should be fine.

“Ciaossu, I’m Reborn,” introduced the little-but-very-dangerous child.

“Ah, is this young man also related to you in some way, too, Sawada-kun?”

The baby’s black eyes stared straight into Fortune’s red ones and the scary-eyed one proudly stated, “I’m not a relative, I am his home-tutor. And a hitman.”

“Reborn!” shrieked Sawada-kun.

Lambo-kun finally decided to participate in the conversation. In a not very contributing fashion. “Stupid Reborn, die!”

Fortune froze as the little boy assaulted the baby with a grenade. Which the baby flung right back at the little cow child. The smoke made therapist and student hack. The therapist waved off the smoke, itchy, watering eyes looking for the small child who was at the heart of the impact.

Lambo-kun was slightly burnt up but still conscious, thankfully. Tears glinted at the corner of his eyes. He sniffed, “Tol-er-ate! Wah!”

A distinctive purple bazooka Fortune remembered from a certain stack of reports was suddenly in the child’s hands. It fired, releasing pink smoke.

“Goodness, it seems my younger self has shot himself with the Ten-Years-Later Bazooka again,” drawled a fifteen-year-old teen with passing resemblance to the five-year-old. He sat on the edge of Fortune’s desk with ease, eyes scanning he room until he half turned around and spotted Fortune, the young man looking warily at the sudden turn of events.

“Ah! Chokishi-ojisan! Pleasure to see you again.”

“Ne?” questioned Sawada-kun, bug-eyed and pale. Fortune was also at a lost. He understood what the bazooka did, but he would figure the cow-child would have forgotten him in ten years. Children’s memories were seldom that great.

“I must formally thank you for always keeping an eye out for my younger self those past few years,” continued the teen, words rather warm for someone who should only have a passing acquaintance with the other during their childhood. _Wait…YEARS?_ And not like two or three if Fortune read the tone right. The Shinigami shook his head and put thought aside unless he wanted to go into a fit of banging his head onto his desk and scream _why me?_

“I suppose saying watching over children is a given would not be appreciated?” mused Fortune, finding some humor in the situation. Eh, weirder and more unfortunate things have happened to him. And, he did expect his mother would try to extend his “vacation” for as long as she could as a loving gesture and punishment for the paperwork – extra and the ones still cluttering the house. With his father’s antics sometimes (and clumsiness), sometimes you just had to adapt and roll with the craziness and let it sink in once everyone is out of sight and hearing.

“Ah, yes!” realized older Lambo. “You haven’t- err…”

Amused red eyes flashed slightly. “Ah, Lambo-kun, no more words are necessary! I always have time for children of every age.”

“Maaa, maa, I suppose I’m just being silly,” the teen forcibly laughs.

* * *

Reborn, World’s Greatest Hitman in the World, did not let anything get one over him. Not since _that_ day. That’s why he abandoned his old name and memories and reforged himself anew. He made the best of the situation courtesy of his damned ego.

Then after his student managed to avoid expulsion (like that would be a problem, Reborn was _his_ tutor, after all, and he had resources and connections if his student failed at this basic exercise of practical investigation skills – though not without a lot of shooting and pain for a certain brunet), a new factor came to the school. A school therapist determined to meddle with the students. Reborn initially dismissed him with his few credentials until his Dame-student and potential Rain Guardian insisted they keep attending a weekly session. He wasn’t worried the kid would break Omerta, he already had trouble even suggesting the Mafia wasn’t a game to his new friend, much less some strange man he knew all of few weeks. But there was just something about this Weir that made Reborn want to kick him the first time he saw the man.

Then there were the sessions themselves. Something always came up before he could attend a session. The hitman didn’t believe in coincidences. Especially considering the first time he met the therapist face-to-face, the Bovino-brat is there with his TYL bazooka. Then his older self admits to a relationship hinting at years when the immature Lightning wasn’t even a student in this country, and probably won’t be anytime soon.

So, from Tsuna’s shoulder, Reborn pins down the lanky teenager with only his eyes and drawls, “Cry Baby Lambo, are you _hiding something?_ ”

Green eyes froze in fear at piercing black ones.

With an uneasy smile, Adult Lambo wheezes, “Of-of course I am, Reborn. From the future, r-remember? But it’s not wise to reveal anything less I risk this timeline’s fate, and the Fates are hardly kind about that sort of thin-!”

With a poof of pink smoke, five-year-old Lambo returns, a bright green lollipop clutched in his hands.

“There you are, Lambo-kun,” welcomes back the therapist, not at all spooked by the whole time-traveling, reality-breaking phenomenon happening in his office. The hitman is not buying it. “Sawada-kun, perhaps you should take him home, I’m sure he’s exhausted from being away from home all day. We can meet again some other time, same time next week, perhaps?”

Dame-Tsuna gapes. Reborn pulls _hard_ on the nearest clump of fluffy brown hair.

“Ouch, Reborn!” whines his annoying little student. But he still goes over and grabs the cow-brat, murmuring a soft thank you and leaving out the door with infant and child in tow.

Fortune watches the two leave, the black eyes of the infant turned away, but Fortune still can feel their searing heat. Or maybe that was the Flames threatening to burn him in the way only the Sun can. He really doesn’t want to think about what just happened, either. Like how older Lambo invoked the name of the Fates, something only spirit agents really do nowadays. Or people under the Aegis of a divine or earthbound spirit. _What the hell was his future and alternative self doing?!_ Fortune mentally moans, head lying on top of crossed arms.

* * *

He’s somehow not surprised to return home to his sparsely decorated apartment and finds a certain baby in a black formal suit.

“Hello, Reborn-san.”

“Drop the honorific,” sneered the baby hitman. “You know something, don’t you? I’ve seen how your eyes been tracking my movements whenever I come by. It’s subtle, but I _am_ the World’s Greatest Hitman.”

“That’s interesting to know.”

“Interesting? Hn. Name, Weir Fortune, prefers to be called Chokishi. Privately tutored before earning a Masters’ Degree in Psychology primarily through online classes. Parents, Belladonna and Ashleigh Weir. Formerly from Ireland, you moved to Namimori, Japan only a week and half before you were hired as a therapist at Namimori Middle School. No significant events over your lifetime. So, tell me. What do you know about the _Costa Nostra_?” demanded the little not-baby. _Wow, blunt and to the point._ Fortune can almost feel his aunt pulling some strings a bit more tightly around her loom. Such is the influence of the higher spirits when the Laws compel it so. There’s no point in resisting it, so better to just go with it rather than make knots and tangles that are a pain to undo.

Fortune sighs as he drops into the nearest chair, a simple wooden one placed by his kitchen table. “What do I know? Hmm, probably less than you do,” considers the Shinigami. He forces himself to flinch as the hitman suddenly has a green gun and fires off a shot right by his cheek, the bullet leaving a red graze. He doesn’t feel any stickiness, so the wound is only superficial. Stings, but easily healed once the Shinigami can allow the advanced healing courtesy of his heritage to work its magic.

“You’re 100 years too early to be playing these games,” snaps the hitman coldly, black eyes like ice with how they pierce him. Sun Flames don’t feel any better.

Fortune slowly intonates, “I’m telling you the truth. I don’t really keep up with Mafia news beyond the big overreaching things. I have some sources tell me other tidbits, but otherwise, I don’t go seeking trouble.” All true.

As the Shinigami Boss of Japan, he’s more aware of the Yakuza than the Italian Mafia. Aside from the updates he needs to hear as the Death Moira heir, but what he receives are veered toward major events and special concerns. He’s still young (by spirit standards), so he doesn’t get hit with the big secrets and little potentially vital details and things until later when he’s closer to taking on the mantle as the Supreme Boss Shinigami. Then there’s the usual rumor mill among Shinigami ranks and his own conducted research like with what he did for all his students. That’s how he distantly knew about the Gokudera Famiglia.

“You knew about me.” Fortune tuned back in with a start. _No question_ those sharp eyes tell him.

“I knew of your presence in the school, yes,” admits Fortune. “Hard not to. By the way, I am not a part of the Mafia, although I know some people who are. As for knowing something about you, it’s hard not to. Your Flames are shining like the super giants of your type’s namesake, suppressed and being drained away or not. A weaker man would probably not be so visible to my sight otherwise.” Lucky Flame perception and his version of sight was pretty much the same on a superficial level.

Silence.

“…drained away?”

The safety clicks off.

Fortune nervously laughs. Just why the hell is his Fates-given intuition tripping him up to say too much?! “…yes? I can perceive the flows of a person’s Flames in my mind’s eye. Normally, they billow about someone, or they sizzle just underneath a person’s skin to gives them an odd glowing look. Even if you’re consciously keeping them suppressed, they should look like curled fire to me. Instead, I can see a good portion just going into your Pacifier.”

Reborn gives him a dark look. “You’ve seen something like this before, haven’t you?”

“…eh?”

The child is now on the table in front of him, green gun poised between the Shinigami’s eyes.

“Don’t deny it. I’ll admit, a person of lesser skill wouldn’t have seen the signs, but I am not called the Greatest for nothing. You _recognized_ it the moment your eyes flicked to this damn thing hanging around my neck. Where did you see this cursed object before? _Who?_ ”

Fortune’s face closes off. “No.”

*Click*

“That person I will not betray. Even if you threaten my life, World’s Greatest be damned. Look, Reborn, I do not pose any danger to the children of this school, your student, or toward you or your comrades. If I can, I’ll answer your questions, but I won’t endanger my confidants, my friends, or my family to satisfy your curiosity. My life is not worth theirs.”

Out of context, that statement is normally seen as cowardly. Arrogant. Selfish. But Reborn can hear the underlying meaning. Rather than value his life over theirs, Fortune’s intonation and prior words suggest he values his life _less_ than theirs. And is all too willing to pay the price to protect them as such.

“…hmm, you’re an interesting one indeed,” smirks the baby hitman, his eyes hidden by the fedora. “This conversation is far from over. Out of curiosity, what do think about actually becoming a part of the Mafia?”

“…I don’t think my superiors would appreciate me becoming a Mafiosi.” _Mom probably would kill me, raise me from the dead, then seal me away in the basement before she rips dad apart, saying this is all his fault for being a bad influence or jinxing me to follow his own mistakes or something like that._

“Oho, is that so?” hums the hitman baby. “Superiors?” His green gun shifts into a strange little chameleon with big yellow eyes, slightly colored orange or red near the pupil. A red tongue flicks out briefly, smacking into my face. I instinctively pull an expression.

“That face of yours irritates me,” the hitman remarks. “I’ll be taking my leave, but expect future communications.”

* * *

Fortune doesn’t move until he hears the soft tap of the baby’s footsteps fade from even his hearing. Even then, he doesn’t fully relax until that burning bright aura is no more than another star in his inner eye.

He slouches, any appetite for dinner gone. He stares up at the popcorn ceiling.

“…why me?” he moans, head thumping once against the chair’s backing.

That’s right, he remembers exactly who that smug jerk is. Reborn the World’s Greatest Hitman., the Sun Arcobaleno, and naturally the strongest Sun of his generation.

Words spat by his father when he comes by his Japan office and complains about the chibi hitman. Someone he both loathes and respects (or maybe fears would be accurate) with an unhealthy degree in each case. A person who takes his father’s sweet, bumbling nature and appearance of weakness as a reason to degrade him, to never expect anything out of him.

His father being Skull De Mort, the immortal stuntman whom they say Death and the Shinigami hated.

 _If only they knew_ snorted Fortune. _Wonder what Reborn would think? Probably something along the lines about how someone as ‘weak’ and ‘pathetic’ as Skull could have a son who earned a Master’s Degree, having the covetous title of Boss, or with the equivalent of a goddess! Might be worth telling him everything to see the hitman’s expression…Fates, what a mess this all is._ Good to confirm Reborn is a pretty insistent, scary, and annoying as hell bastard.

His father never did have anything good to say about his fellow Arcobalenos in general with one or two exceptions, _maybe,_ but least of all the fedora-wearer. Lover of chaos (figuratively, though the spirit liked to throw a _favor_ for both hitman and Shinigami every now and again. Favors by that spirit were usually not a good thing), the hitman took sadistic glee in all that he did to spawn even more chaos. And all reports said he was pretty dogged when it came to missions, especially with personal ones.

Because that meant someone caught his interest however obliquely. And if half of his father’s stories were true, Fortune hoped he would be just a passing curiosity for the hitman, weird and connected, but not too notable. Laws knew Reborn’s interest with the ‘civilian’ of their group in that fated year of working together _._ And made things just that harder, especially when he wanted to pick at his dad’s insecurities. For an inverted Sun, attention usually did involve a lot of negative context like snipping, sneering and sometimes outright bullying in the name of “tough love” basically.

Then again, he was his father’s son; he never was that great at disappearing into the crowds, especially if he had already caught someone’s attention. And Reborn already subconsciously started to react with the personality things the Shinigami tended to mirror from his dad.

Then there was the nagging voice called common sense (who sounded suspiciously like Indira) said it was already too late.

Again, _why me?_


	5. Perform for the Devil

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Eh, the Reborn thing was only a passing thought. Rivalry sounds better, I think. Fon’s a pretty good idea, cosmosqueen, he’s even-tempered and probably can get along with Fortune well. Like bond over parental skills (sometimes, Fortune feels like he is the parent sometimes when it comes to his dad. And the little future Shinigami).
> 
> Thanks for the review, meriiden313. As for Skull, I was planning on sticking to canon until Mafia Island. Probably will extend the vacation, add in a chapter with a wonderful family plus friends dinner, that sort of thing.
> 
> Thanks, to DaughteroftheWineDude for your review. From here, things start to snowball. And to think this was supposed to be Fortune's mother's idea of a vacation. Then again, scary and manipulative goddess icon who likes to mess with people. It might very well be that~

For some reason, Nana-san stopped Fortune at the grocer’s today and asked if he wants to come over. He would have normally readily agreed out of politeness until she mentioned how _Reborn-kun_ had invited him to his birthday party as one of his friends.

Friends. Right.

Not.

 _Little spawn of Eris!_ Mentally cursed Fortune in Ancient Greek. He should really _not_ accept the offer, who knows what conniving guy like Reborn would do? Balance knew Fortune wasn’t exactly the most subtle of people at times, and his passing resemblance to his dad didn’t help things. But, he also knew his chances to get away with that, and Reborn might just worsen his machinations in finding out the Shinigami’s secrets.

With a slight smile (fake), Fortune accepts the offer and trails, recording Nana-san’s directions to the Sawada household.

* * *

Tsuna is hardly surprised the birthday party wasn’t for him but for Reborn. His mother had unfailingly forgotten his birthday days, sometimes weeks, after the fact (this year is no different apparently). And it’s not like he told his friends the date. But his school therapist’s presence is more than unexpected.

“Chokishi-san?” gapes the flabbergast boy.

The lavender-haired man smiles awkwardly. He’s dressed very differently outside of school, wearing a black jean jacket of all things, open to reveal a light blue shirt underneath. The casual wear emphasized how young the therapist looks, maybe a few years out of school at a stretch. Didn’t he have a Master’s Degree on the wall of his office? Those took several years at least to earn, right? How old was he?

 “Ah, Sawada-kun, pleasure seeing you as always. It seems I’ve been invited to this little party. I happened to run into your dear mother, and Reborn had expressed a desire for me to attend his birthday. How could I refuse such a request?”

Tsuna is a bit dim and clueless and rockheaded. He knows that. But, even he can pick out the older man’s true meaning: denying the indirect request from his selfish, scheming tutor wasn’t an option. The brunet shoots the hitman baby a searing look which he ignores easily. _Again, involving people in my life to the Mafia!_ But wasn’t this taking things too far? Even if the man was pretty easygoing like Takeshi, he was an _adult._ If he suspected anything…

This line of thought was bad for his already frazzled nerves, so Tsuna did his best to ignore them and hope he could keep everything under wraps from his kind if odd and sometimes very perceptive therapist.

Nothing suspicious happens while they sit down to eat the delicious sushi Takeshi brought to the party (though, part of Tsuna shudders, mind associating the delectable seafood with piling debt after Reborn and everyone’s dine’n’ditch routine). Everyone is there for Reborn’s party, his friends, Lambo, his mom, Bianchi, and even Haru. Bianchi looks different today with a full veil obscuring her face for some reason. Though, it’s good for Gokudera-kun who doesn’t seem to take ill if her face covered up like that.

Gokudera at least remember his birthday considering he said he had a present to give him at midnight.

Tsuna tells him he doesn’t need to stay up so late, and he can wait until tomorrow to receive his gift.

“Juudaime! You’re so kind and considerate! I will follow you forever!” shouts the silveret at the top of his lungs.

Tsuna should have known Reborn would pull off something crazy today.

“Today, I am turning one. As per traditions, we shall throw a Vongolian birthday party,” announces the baby.

“A what-?”

“Dame-Tsuna, you should know better. This is part of the stuff you need to know if you’re going to be a Mafia boss. As a hitman and your tutor, this reflects badly on me if you don’t!”

Tsuna freezes. Reborn just said that aloud, didn’t he? Like he did the other day in Chokishi-san’s office, but the brunet figured the whole thing with Lambo had distracted the therapist away from that thoughtless statement. Seriously, was he supposed to tell everyone who and what he was? Or his mission? Weren’t there laws of secrecy or something? And what hitman went around telling people they were hitmen?

Reborn kicks him, face thumping into the ground in an all too familiar position.

“Dame-Tsuna, I can read your thoughts, you know!”

_Why, why him?_

Reborn turns around nonchalantly, as if he hadn’t somehow smashed Tsuna into the ground just a minute ago. “For everyone who doesn’t already know, in our Famiglia, odd-year birthdays are celebrated with the legendary tradition of the Vongolian birthday party. The rules are simple enough for even Dame-Tsuna to understand. As the birthday boy, I shall score the participants’ “present” or “performance” on a scale from 0 to 100. The highest scores will earn an elegant present,” stated Reborn calmly. In the same tone, he finished, “But the lowest scorer will die.”

“Reborn!” shrieked the very unhappy brunet. _I want to live to my birthday!_ “What kind of crazy ruling is that?!”

“You have no choice in the matter. If you don’t participate, you receive an automatic score of 0. Meaning, you’ll die,” the baby hitman asserted. “What’s the problem, Dame-Tsuna? Everyone else have been preparing for this for days.”

_Of course they were. And no one bothered to tell me. Or Chokishi-san…wait! Does that mean-!_

Chokishi-san caught the panicking teen’s eyes and winked.

“Reborn, how would a performance work if requiring joint participation?” inquired the therapist calmly, as if he didn’t hear the words “Mafia”, “Vongolian”, or “DIE”.

“In that case, sure,” confirmed the hitman. “But it better be a good show equal to the number of participants.”

“O~kay…?”

Tsuna had a really bad feeling about this.

Fortune ran through what he could do to appease the hitman without giving too much away. Reborn probably won’t kill anyone…probably. A small part of him, the vindictive part, urged him to take reckless action. The same part that growled whenever he thought about how this man always treated his dad so poorly.

Well…Reborn already had suspicions, anyway. It wasn’t like his mom forbade him from interacting with people from the Mafia. Heck, his mission details said for him to work at his own discretion! Which, at a stretch, meant he could theoretically show off a bit of his true talents.

Plus, the look on Reborn’s face would be totally worth it.

His mother would probably only eviscerate him when he came back home with that excuse.

Now…what could he do again? He has his dad’s old motorcycle from the whole Fated Day disaster (thanks the Laws for his father’s gift of immortality since by all records, Arcobaleno never live for more than few decades at best. As his mother’s consort, he can sustain his life long enough for either of them to figure out how to get rid of the damn curse hopefully. If not…well, mortal was still mortal, right? And you don’t mess with a Moira’s family). However, he really didn’t need go and hand over a sign that said, child of Skull, one of the best stuntmen in the world! Even if part of him really did want to see Reborn’s face…no, don’t give into temptation.

What else could he do to…wait…he did buy and/or gather those things earlier for practice (and to make home homeier)…

Damn it, he would need to go out and get everything again unless he wanted his mother to complain about his laziness and how he needed to make the place his home for the extended mission.

* * *

For bringing sushi, Yamamoto-kun earned 80 points. Haru’s present was a white suit…covered in targets. Thankfully, the little hitman liked those kinds of presents and gave her 85 points. Fortune flattened himself against the ground when he saw Bianchi-san start tossing some pizza dough. She couldn’t make any food safely, that was a given. The Shinigami’s caution awarded him with no cuts for himself or his clothes. Her murderous and deadly technique contributed to 90 points. Sadist mini-man. Lambo is five. He offered a glued piece of hair wound on stick. Unforgiving, Reborn gave the cow-dressed child only 1 point.

“Sawada-kun, Gokudera-kun, I happen to need a pair of volunteers for my performance, would you be interested?”

“Sure / No way!”

The silveret seethes, “I have this whole magic act planned out. I was going to ask Juudaime to help!”

“And what was the act?”

“Well, I was going to lock Juudaime in this box and-”

“Gokudera, aren’t those slots traditionally for inserting _knives_ into a magician’s assistant without harming them if performed by a _professional_?”

“Sounds exciting,” Reborn chirps, eyes gleaming with an malicious sort of anticipation.

“How about we go with my idea, Gokudera-kun? An accident so close to Sawada-kun’s own birthday would be unfortunate,” insists Fortune.

“Are you saying I’m incompetent?!”

“…how many times have you successfully performed this act, Gokudera-kun?” asks Sawada-kun, gathering his courage once he finishes processing (having mental hysterics) the idea of him being stabbed in that box for his sadistic tutor’s birthday gift. Reborn obviously likes the idea, but the sane members of the conversation do not.

Silence.

“My idea it is,” Fortune finally states with no intention of being disputed. “Here, I happened to have the things I needed for this. Gokudera, I’ve been told you have excellent hand-eye coordination and aim, right? Start throwing these at me when I ask. Sawada-kun, you are responsible for nearly clearing away whatever I make. Would that be acceptable, Reborn?”

“Ho? What are you planning?”

Fortune gives a close-eye smile. “An art demonstration. A very active one. Gokudera handles my media while Tsuna takes away the finished pieces to be displayed at the end. I originally had planned to furnish my apartment to make it less sterile, but I can always make more stuff later.”

“Yes. But Hayato, don’t go easy when you toss those things at Chokishi. Dame-Tsuna, you’d better do your part well.”

Fortune asks for everyone to go outside for the performance.

“Ready, Gokudera-kun?”

“Whatever, you quack.”

“Now!”

Gokudera-kun first toss several large common rocks, the objects flying in random directions, some in completely different direction.

Not a problem. Fortune had said he needed to retrieve the last things he needed for the show in his car. In reality, he just needed an excuse to go away from the others to pull out his Spirit Blood weapon. Ordinary weapons didn’t do a thing against spirits, but if material is dipped in the waters of a certain kind of stream, the material obtains special properties that could harm a spirit being. Not that normal material from their plane didn’t hurt, but they can’t be moved between planes – the whole made of spirit energy problem. By offering a user’s “blood”, or spiritual essence, a weapon made from this will be properly imbued with the power to fight against unruly spirits. Though, the weapon won’t work for anyone else afterwards.

His weapon looks like a pair of scissors. Rather appropriate considering the tool associated with the one who cuts the thread of life. When he douses his weapon slightly in his secondary Cloud Flames they expand into their true form: large cutting shears he can break apart into a pair of blades, the form he needs right now. Spirit Blood weapons can’t harm physical beings. Except in the case physical blood and spiritual essence is offered. Something only a truly powerful divine spirit can do because Shinigami only mimic living forms, not true manifestation.

Or by halflings like him.

With the skill borne of years of practice and experience, he _moves_.

* * *

Tsuna gapes. His therapist, the soft-spoken and unassuming Chokishi-san came back with a pair of swords! Actual, real-life swords! They’re unusually shaped, the blades wide and curving, unlike the traditional katanas he sees on display by the kendo club.

“Oho?” muses Reborn on the sidelines. “Those are paired dao broadswords. A Chinese-styled type of sword.”

All that flies over the brunet’s head as his eyes bulges at the sight playing out before him. Without a trace of hesitation, the man glides easily across his backyard, cutting through the large rocks, somehow making a neat pile with the pieces he doesn’t need. Various rock statues form, a pair of guardian lions roaring a challenge, an oriental phoenix preening itself, a nine-tailed kitsune about to spring, and finally, a dragon curling about a miniature temple.

“Next, Gokudera-kun!”

A rubber bullet smacks into his shoulder. _Ow! That’s going to leave a bruise, Reborn!_

“Dame-Tsuna, don’t just stand there like a spectator! Clear away the rubble and set up the statues!” commands Reborn.

 _How am I supposed to do that?_ Tsuna wants to shriek back. The way Chokishi-san was waving those blades was scary, and those statues looked heavy! The green pistol is now pointed at him. _Oh no…!_

A demonic glint in uncompromising and joyful eyes. “Do it with your Dying Will, then!”

 _Good thing I cut up those logs earlier,_ idly thinks Fortune as he watches from the corner of his eye as a boxer-wearing Sawada-kun rushes in and out of the scope of his blades, hauling the finished statues to the wooden display platforms and shelves he had carved. Sawada also kindly clears away the rubble to minimize the chance the swordsman might trip (not with his skill and footwork, but the gesture is appreciated).

Tough granite blocks break apart into various animals from Greek/Roman mythology. Dark obsidian sheets cleave into decorative plates with the impressions of delicate flowers engraved into their surfaces. Finally, chunks of colorful quartz transform into models of the chameleon always on Reborn’s hat, curled up on a hat, sunbathing on a rock, hiding among leaves of a potted plant, or resting on top of a pillow.

Gokudera-kun drops backward on his rump, exhausted from throwing all those rocks. At the same time, Sawada-kun collapses, eyes regaining reason as the dancing orange flame on his forward winks out. On pedestals are the Asian animals proudly displayed. Plates and small animal figurines line the shelves. On a small table, the chameleon statues are arranged tastefully to showcase the change of energy from one scene to the next.

Reborn walks over, inspecting each piece of art with a critical eye. The hitman is impressed by the therapist’s level of skill. And even more suspicious. A civilian with supposed Mafia connections made all of this in just over five minutes. And his swords were able to cut clean through stone.

He had to have used some sort of Flame or special ability. Or maybe there was something different about the metal of his swords.

Reborn saw the young man’s hands; they lack callouses resulting from years of practicing one’s art. And that level of fluidity, of zero hesitance when shards of rock are falling all around you practically demands years, even from someone gifted. No, that skill was too refined from mere practice. He worked around Tsuna when the boy in Dying Will Mode became a bit too enthusiastic in his task, not losing a step when the boy leaped into the deadly dance. That indicated experience more than practice. And how could such talent go unnoticed? There should be some loose end, a teacher, an acquaintance who talked big, maybe a victim of the man’s experience.

Reborn’s contacts have no answer. The young man’s background was clean. Too clean. The hitman scented forgery and lies somewhere in the therapist’s past.

He was an unknown.

He was dangerous.

“95 points since Hayato and Dame-Tsuna didn’t do that much.”

“Reborn,” warned the therapist as he set is blades down, “I won’t hesitate to destroy my own work if you try and pick on Lambo-kun.”

Reborn scoffs, “I don’t associate with such lowly people.”

“Of course you don’t, my mistake.”

* * *

The next day, Fortune is invited back to the Sawada household to celebrate the brunet’s birthday. Enduring a second day in the line of fire of Reborn’s dark gaze is worth it, once he see’s Sawada-kun’s bright smile.

Tsuna is glad Reborn doesn’t pull the Vongolian birthday party on him. In fact, he seemed a bit distracted since yesterday.

From Gokudera-kun, he gets some dynamite of his own.

From Takeshi-kun, he gets a baseball charm on a chain and sushi.

From Bianchi, he gets a mysterious vial of purplish-red liquid. “For enemies,” she said, handing it over. Tsuna makes a note to lock it in a metal box.

From Lambo, he gets grape candy.

From Haru, a woolen orange scarf for the upcoming winter with a white flame design.

From Reborn, books on the history of the Mafia. Schooling never ended with his tutor, did it?

From his mom, a new bike.

From Kyoko-chan who found out about his birthday from Takeshi, a sparkling sun-shaped charm to go with the baseball player’s gift.

And from Chokishi-san, the therapist hands him another charm. White moon and star-shaped bells he says, but they don’t make a sound. Warm red eyes glint mirthfully. “Sawada-kun, these do ring, but only if you need them. Heed the clear chimes, for it means mischief makers are near, but they shall not go closer. Think of them as a charm of protection against darkness.”

Weird, but okay.

Overall, the best birthday he ever had, even when Reborn forces him to clean everything up and run laps around town to burn off the calories from two parties’ worth of cake.


	6. Interlude: Little Charge

_Don’t get involved. Don’t get involved_ , _don NOT get in involved,_ Fortune chants in his head. But he really doesn’t like the itch his intuition sends him. The Shinigami has a feeling the hitman is also somehow involved, too. He stares at the stacks of papers.

 _Screw it._ He pushes his chair away and stands. One moment there, the next the office is empty of anything but the towering stack of paper.

Fortune blinks. Another small child had appeared. No active Flames, but gives off a kind of spiritual energy some humans naturally develop, separate from one’s Soul Fire. He gets the impression of explosions. His nose tells him the child reeks of garlic.

He listens in as the baby hitman explains the child is a Chinese assassin targeting Sawada-kun for whatever reason. She practices Gyoza Kempo which explains the garlic.

It doesn’t sound all too impressive, Fortune knows that, but Sawada-kun didn’t have to laugh at her (the perks of being one of the Moirai is the ability to see people’s life skein. At his level, he can at least tell one’s gender). Fortune narrows his eyes as the spiritual energy gathers and condenses rapidly.

“Ah, that is the countdown for the infamous “Pinzu-Timed Super Explosion, dame-student,” Reborn explains.

So, they have from the count of nine to either calm down the assassin I-Pin or to throw her far enough away to avoid being in the explosion zone.

He watches for a moment as the teens play Hot Potato with the Human Bomb. Before Tsuna can toss her to Yamamoto-kun, he intercepts the throw.

“Chokishi-san! Don’t hold onto her!” shouts Sawada-kun.

Fortune cradles the young girl in his arms and places a hand on her forehead. The basic skill any denizen of the spirit planes should know is the basic manipulation of spiritual energy of the environment. Manipulation of other’s energies is more difficult due to the natural protections one has, but Fortune was not a Moira and Shinigami Boss for nothing. How else can he grant his subordinate power or wield the power over mortal lives if he couldn’t touch upon their spiritual energies?

Explosion-type spiritual powers are simple in design. If he expels the energy manually faster than it concentrates, the timer resets. I-Pin is exhausted from the sudden lost, but she’ll recover soon enough. The blessing of childhood is such (he ignores the snide snickers from his dear SIC who’s listening in, he was NOT a child, damn it!).

They find out I-Pin has very poor eyesight, and she somehow mistook her very strange-looking target for Sawada-kun.

* * *

She states she will be staying in Japan to train. Fortune knows the Sawada household only has so much room (wasn’t Bianchi, Reborn, and Lambo staying over there?). He asks if I-Pin would like to stay over his apartment since he has a spare room. Plus, he can more easily prevent her for accidentally exploding if he retains some form of guardianship over her.

All of this is stated in perfect Mandarin (languages is a must when one works takes you literally every and any where in the world).

 _“I don’t mind, but you should talk to my master, first,_ ” the young assassin murmurs.

So, he goes and taps out the phone number I-Pin gives him.

:: Hello? ::

“Fon-san? I am Weir Fortune. I believe your associate, Reborn already discussed about where your student has planned to set up her base of operations so to speak?”

:: Yes, he did. What are your relationship to him, and why have you called me? ::

“I only met Reborn through his student who goes to the local school for whom I am the stationed therapist. I am a certified psychologist, licensed to teach children, and skilled in defending myself and others. I’ve offered to open up my home to I-Pin.”

:: I see. Why should I allow for a stranger to watch over my student? ::

“Well, for one, I am among the few who can deactivate the countdown for her Pinzu-Timed Super Explosion.”

:: …how did you do this? ::

“Energy comes in many forms. I am able to disrupt the flows for the particular energy used by the explosion and sap them away, causing an automatic reset by the body. I-Pin is somewhat exhausted afterward, but children are hardy creatures and recover quickly enough.”

:: …I will trust you with I-Pin, but know if anything happens to her… ::

“I should consider offing myself. I am not so foolish as to be so clumsy with the student of the infamous master of martial arts called the Storm Dragon.”

:: So long as there are no misunderstandings. Please take care of my student ::

“To be honest, I would want you to kill me if I let anything happen to her. I believe in protecting children always. If the Triads try to send her on more missions, I’ll be sure to keep an eye out for her and make sure she doesn’t get lost again. I don’t mind if she needs a sparring partner, either. Reborn’s student also has a child in his care, so I’ll be sure to introduce them for a playdate. She’s a hitman-in-training, but she’s also five. A little fun won’t hurt…with your approval, of course.”

:: I am glad to hear that. I will speak to the Triads about sending my apprentice on missions for the future. And it would be good if I-Pin gets to socialize with people her own age. Please send her my regard ::

Fon hangs up. The Shinigami makes a note to be on the lookout for the martial arts master who will probably show up at some point to “check” on his student. Fon probably trusts Reborn would have gotten rid of him if the therapist posed any real danger, but one usually trusts the judgement of their own eyes over all.

Fortune looked down on the little Chinese girl. “I suppose that settles that. _I-Pin, follow me, please. We’ll go shopping tomorrow for essentials and things to fill your new room.”_

[Lady Moria is right. You are way too naïve and kind when it comes to children]

[…you’re taking a picture, aren’t you?] Fortune had lifted up I-Pin into his arms and cradled her gently.

[Naturally. I have to keep tabs on you, my reckless Boss-kun]

[I’m not that bad!]

Indira snorted [Do I need to remind you of your last few missions and their _complications_?]

[I accede. Ugh, especially don’t remind me of the incident on my last birthday. It was a nightmare!]

[But you are the one who brought it up] teased the annoying Supervisor. Feeling petty, Fortune shut down the telepathic link.

* * *

To prevent future misunderstandings, Fortune gives the little assassin a pendant charmed by a medically-inclined divine spirit to fix eyesight.

He also sets up frequent playdates with Lambo-kun to help burn off the little girl’s energy. The first day they met was memorable. Especially since Fortune had to take away the pendant to have the charm readjusted.

“I-Pin-chan this is Lam-”

“Lambo-sama is here!”

“-bo-kun. Okay, you two play nicely.”

The Chinese girl takes one look at the cow-child, and shrieks in Mandarin, _“Broccoli Monster!”_

The food and drinks for guests and family member alike go flying as I-Pin-chan makes some distance between her and the “broccoli monster”.

“Hie! What is she doing?”

Fortune hums innocently, “It seems I-Pin-chan’s extreme nearsightedness is acting up. I have something to help with that usually, but I needed to have it looked back over for a bit. For now, Sawada-kun, we as their elders must bear with the antics of those younger and more naïve than us.”

“Yeah, Dame-Tsuna, listen to the advice of your elders,” stated Reborn as he sipped on his untouched mug of expresso. “Restrain the children if they get too loud and clean up after their messes. Taking responsibility over your younger subordinates is just one of many qualities a boss should have.”

“ _I_ ’m older than you!” _Really doubt that, but eh…you’ll figure it out. Someday._

Nana-san returns but said she had plans to view a friend’s piano recital. Reborn speaks up before any of them and reassures her that she can leave the house and children to them. Poor Sawada-kun looks overwhelmed. Fortune pats him gently on his fluffy head.

“Don’t worry about anything, Nana-san. I’ll make sure the playdate goes over well, and I’m sure your son will learn a thing or two about taking care of children.”

Yamamoto-kun and Gokudera-kun also arrive to help. Sort of.

Fortune sips on his glass of juice quietly as he watches Lambo-kun chase I-Pin-chan around the house. He snatches up the mischievous cow-child before he can dive onto the table and coincidentally Gokudera-kun’s side of it.

“What the-?! You brat! I bet you planned on jumping on my food on purpose!” seethes the short-tempered silveret.

“Maa, maa, Gokudera, no harm no foul? Chokishi-san grabbed Lambo just in time, ha ha ha,” soothed Yamamoto-kun unsuccessfully.

The whole mess is exacerbated when a bit child-obsessed Haru barges through the door just as Gokudera-kun reaches for Lambo-kun.

Fortune resists the urge to chuckle as his charge mistakes Haru for a dumpling monster of all things. Luckily, the girl has a pair of glasses for extreme-nearsightedness for her father but is in the middle of delivering to him.

I-Pin-chan positions the spectacles and squints at everyone.

_“I see a girl.”_

Lambo-kun is still acting like his idea of a ghost-monster. “ _I see an idiot.”_

“ _Now, now, I-Pin-chan, it’s not polite to call people idiot_ s,” chided the therapist in Mandarin. Back in Japanese he tells them, “Thank you Haru for letting I-Pin-chan borrow your father’s glasses. Though, this is only a temporary solution. I-Pin lacks ears in this state, so they usually slide off otherwise.”

Unfortunately, Lambo-kun is easy to upset. After I-Pin-chan beats him up, the child retaliates with name-calling. Triggering the countdown.

“Hie! He’s going to blow up!” screams Sawada-kun. Apparently the teenagers had forgotten the whole disarming thing Fortune did the other day as they toss his poor charge around the house until her braid gets caught on the roof. He’s about to go over, stop the countdown, and get her down safely until Lambo-kun pulls out the bazooka. Reborn unhelpfully misdirects it at I-Pin-chan.

“Reborn, I do not think the future would appreciate the sudden detonation, I think,” demurred Fortune with narrowed eyes. “The other children are excused, but I know you know I could have stopped this whole mess myself.”

“But that’s not fun,” pouted the not-baby.

The pink smoke cleared to reveal Adult I-Pin, as the older versions of people switched out for their present-day selves are called.

“Why…what am I doing up here? Oh no, I have delivery for Kawahira-san! His ramen will go bad at this rate,” worries the adorable teenager I-Pin-chan will one day become.

“Hiie! I-Pin is a girl?!”

“I do call her by the female honorific, Sawada-kun,” Fortune reminds him. Sawada-kun scratches his head in embarrassment.

The Chinese girl’s eyes light up when she sees him. “Fortune-ojisan! Do you think you can…?” She gestures to the crate containing the noodles.

The Shinigami cants his head but shrugs. He sends a small flick of spiritual energy, invisible except to spirits and spirit-users. A little bit of raw spirit energy aligned just so should be able to keep the ramen fresh. Death and decay are after all his line’s expertise. So, naturally he can do the opposite, too, and keep the food from spoiling or going bad.

“Thank you very much, Fortune-ojisan!” Bodiless chuckles echo in the Shinigami’s head.

[No, Indira, I did not blush, damn it!] denies the embarrassed man.

_Stupid Supervisor and his nosy ways._

I-Pin-chan explains her embarrassment these days will not trigger the Pinzu-Timed Super Explosion due to it being sealed by her master when she quit the life of an assassin.

Unfortunately, it’s password activated now, and Fon had for some reason chosen the password “broccoli monster”.

Fortune sighs, ignores everyone’s screams and taps Adult I-Pin-chan on the forehead.

_Why do I like taking care of children again?_

Reborn was certainly no help since he had already flown away in anticipation of a huge explosion. The jerk.

As it was, the milder explosion he couldn’t completely contain wrecks the living room. He stays after to help clean up the horrible mess, replace the damaged furniture, and make sure the children (with I-Pin-chan returned) are alright.

Then he took his leave, charge in tow. He was sure the demented baby was quite pleased with the chaos wrought today, if only because it annoyed the enigmatic therapist.

* * *

Later on, Reborn showed up at Fortune’s doorstep to take I-Pin-chan for a hospital visit.

Apparently, there was some sort of accident, and Sawada-kun got hospitalized with a broken arm.

Fortune was suspicious, but the not-baby assured him it was just a visit.

Did the Shinigami believe him? Not a chance, but I-Pin genuinely wanted to visit the boy she affectionately now called Gege.

He knew he would regret it, especially as a now slightly singed I-Pin returns from the so-called “ _just_ a visit” to the hospital.

When Fortune asked her what set off the Pinzu-Timed Super Explosion, the Chinese girl gets a glazed look in her eyes, and the timer begins to count down.

The Shinigami asked again once he dispersed most of her spiritual energy.

Fortune makes a note to maybe chat with I-Pin about her new crush Hibari Kyoya (who is her master’s relative if the Shinigami recalls correctly from the less than official records he keeps of “problematic” students on the sly). Maybe suggest she may be projecting her feelings toward her master onto him and interpreting them on the extreme end of the affection scale. If nothing else, maybe try to foster a more platonic relationship with less inconvenient consequences.


End file.
